The Secret of Willow Castle - A Historical Gothic Romance Novel

by Burns, Nathaniel

The Devil laughed. “Not him! No, your husband might have a legal claim on you, but you belong to someone else entirely. Not him. Not me. I could sense that you were another’s the moment you set foot in my domain.”

  “Your domain?” I asked, casting my mind back through the places I had visited both in reality and in my dreams. “When was I in your domain before tonight?”

  “All of these caverns are mine,” he told me, following the flow of the river in an expansive gesture. “I first sensed your presence not far from here, a mere few miles along this river, when you visited Poole’s Cavern. Wherever this river flows, from its source near Arnemetia’s Well to its mouth by Castleton, less than half a mile from here, is my territory and I shall always know who wanders there.” He extended a hand to me. “May I show you around?”

  “If you like,” I said, rising and following him into the tunnel of glowing white rock, the river rushing alongside.

  9 Threats

  I

  did not remember how I got back from the Devil’s Chamber. I had no memory of climbing back up those narrow stairs or of closing the trapdoor behind me. My memory ended with the blaze of fine jewellery. My next memory was of being back in my bed, waking up to the gentle clatter of china as Sarah brought in my tray of chocolate.

  My hand flew to my neck, half-expecting to find the heavy emerald pendant there. My neck was bare.

  It was a dream, then, I thought, my heart sinking slightly. Nothing but a strange, laudanum-induced fantasy, brought on by being overwrought and missing Mervyn’s tales of Willow Castle’s history. Ah well.

  *

  It seemed a little excessive to breakfast alone in the Withy Chamber. I was still a little appalled by the waste there must have been, for the dishes on the sideboard were filled as full as they had been when there had been four of us there. I still ate but little. My appetite had never been great, and I had not yet recovered it after the loss of Mama. I usually picked at the bacon and eggs and hoped that all the food I did not eat would at least be fed to the staff, rather than simply discarded. I remembered how Mama had always cautioned against waste when we had lived at Lisson Grove, how we had used up every scrap of food by transforming it into one dish after another. Her attitude had changed overnight when we had arrived at the Castle. I supposed it was simply a resumption of the ways she had learned during her girlhood at Greycrags.

  My mind was still full of the opulent trinkets I had seen in my dream as I took my place at the table, in the same seat that I had occupied for my chess game with the Devil. I sipped tea and relived the dream within my head, then at length I picked up my plate and went to serve myself from the sideboard. I took my usual bacon and eggs, then on impulse I decided to accompany it with a slice of fried bread. I reached for the lid of the server.

  Beneath the lid I found no fried bread. Instead, I found a mass of dark green velvet – the very pouch that I had seen in my dream! I dropped the lid with a heavy clatter and snatched it up. I rushed back over to the table and poured the jewels across the tablecloth. They fell out exactly as I remembered them, down to the last gold ring. I left them there as I retrieved my forgotten breakfast and stared transfixed as I broke my fast.

  When I had finished I scooped my treasures back into their pouch and carried them carefully to my favourite room, a room where the contents were not owned by me and therefore by my husband, but by the Castle itself – the library. I went to the shelf where Mervyn had once fetched the volume containing Sir Carvell and Lady Angela’s likenesses. There I found a small volume, set further back upon the shelf than its fellows. I pulled it out, glancing at its title. A Short History of Osier. I laughed, then I pushed the pouch to the back of the shelf and slid the book back in, lining its spine up with the other volumes, so that the precious bag of jewels was entirely concealed.

  *

  I remained in the library the whole day, not curled up with a book by the fire this time, but settled at the bureau with pen and paper. Furiously, I scribbled down every detail that I could remember from my dream, making a list of the things I had learned from the Devil who, it now appeared, had been as real as the jewels I had found and concealed. Willow trees, I scrawled. Uprooting, walking, replanting. Viminia. Hecate (goddess?). Devil’s Chamber. Devil’s Seat. Secret passageways. Route of underground river?

  When I had done with my list I prowled the shelves, pulling down one thick tome after another and piling them high on the fireside table. It was my intention to find more information about everything I had seen in my dream, to go further than I had been able to during my brief time with Mervyn and learn all I could about Willow Castle. Even Mervyn had not known of VIMINIA and the secret trapdoor, of that I was sure. If he had, he would certainly have explored it during his adventurous boyhood. I was certain it would have been among the first things he told me. I looked forward to telling him of my amazing discoveries as soon as I saw him again. I had already been impatient for his next visit, but now my impatience had assumed an even greater level of urgency.

  I was disturbed some time in the afternoon by Mrs Chapman entering the room.

  “Begging your pardon, My Lady,” she said, bobbing a disinterested curtsey. “The Master is returned and requests your presence in the parlour at once.”

  I was surprised that I had not heard the carriage, nor the slam of the main door, nor the increase in activity that accompanied an arrival. All at once I realised how caught up I had been in my task. My heart was gripped by the icy realisation that I no longer had the Castle to myself and worse, that my husband wanted to see me. I could think of no reason for it that I would care for. Nevertheless, out of habit after all Mama’s training, I glanced into the mirror above the fireplace and quickly patted my hair into place and smoothed down my dress. Then, having composed myself, I set off for the parlour.

  *

  I had not expected my husband to be in company when I opened the parlour door, much less to have a lady with him. Although when I glanced at the female sitting by his side, I wondered whether ‘lady’ was indeed the correct term. She looked a little too artful, her hair a suspiciously brassy shade of blonde, her taffeta skirts arranged to show a tantalising hint of ankle. Mrs Chapman bustled in behind me with the tea tray as I took my seat opposite my husband and this rouged stranger.

  “Ah, Rebecca,” Sir Montague greeted me. “How good to see you again, little wife. Do sit down, for there is someone I should like you to meet. Mrs Chapman, would you be so kind as to bring a pot of coffee as well? Our companion here prefers it to tea. Rebecca, it has been suggested to me that it is not good for a lady to be so much on her own as you will be now that your mother is no longer with us. You should have a companion, some respectable lady who will keep you company and prevent you from becoming lonely when I am busy or away from home. I have found such a lady. Allow me to introduce Mademoiselle Celine Palomer.”

  “Enchante,” Mlle Palomer simpered, not waiting for me to address her first. She held out her hand for me to shake as if she were the lady of the house and I the paid companion. Between us, Mrs Chapman finished setting out the tea things and left the room to fetch the coffee. The moment the door closed behind her my husband’s face changed.

  “It’s no use looking like that, Rebecca,” he said, with that irritating look of slight amusement. “I can see that you are not enamoured of the idea – honestly, dear wife, you can conceal nothing. Your every thought is written upon your face.”

  “Without meaning any disrespect to Mlle Palomer,” I replied, “I do not require a companion. I have been perfectly happy on my own these past few days, and I am sure I will be again.”

  “Oh, how very worthy,” he mocked me. “Your Mama raised you to be absolutely perfect, didn’t she? My books and music shall be my sole companions, on them to look and practise by myself. Very sweet, very maidenly. But as it happens, your opinion on the matter is not required. It is of great importance to me that this lady shall join our household. The most suitable position for her is
that of your companion, therefore you shall have a companion.”

  Mlle Palomer leaned forward and reached for my hand. “Please, Lady Rebecca,” she pouted in her lightly accented French, “let there be only friendship between us. Sir Montague and I have only your best interests at heart, and I shall perhaps be able to relieve you of certain… duties that you find disagreeable.”

  Mrs Chapman reappeared bearing a silver coffee pot. I glared silently at Sir Montague as we waited for her to leave again. The moment she was gone I dragged my hand away from Celine’s and leapt to my feet.

  “This is your mistress?” I cried. “You have brought your mistress into this house and you expect me not only to receive her and take tea with her, but actually to accept her as my supposed companion? You must be mad, Sir Montague!”

  He did not flinch. “Keep your voice down, Rebecca,” he hissed. “There’s no need to make a spectacle of yourself.”

  “My dear,” Celine’s habit of addressing me as if we were old friends was starting to make my skin crawl. “Please try to understand. Montague and I have waited such a long time to be together. When his father finally passed on, we thought we should have our chance. But no, for then the terms of the will would not allow us to marry, and now this is the only way we can manage.”

  “More to the point,” Sir Montague said, “this is my home and you, Rebecca, are my wife. I expect you to do your duty by doing as I say. Since I am the one who pays our staff, I shall decide how many we have and in what positions. If I say that you shall have a companion, you shall have one. If I say that it is to be Celine, it shall be Celine. If she happens to be my mistress, that is no concern of yours. Or didn’t that prudish Mama of yours ever teach you that men may have mistresses and that this is the way of the world?”

  I gritted my teeth, fighting the urge to tell him never to mention my Mama again, that I did not appreciate his criticism of her and would not tolerate it. I forced myself to remain calm. “I am not unaware of the fact that some men find it hard to remain faithful, Sir Montague” I said. “However, I was not aware that ladies are expected to take their husbands’ doxies under their own roofs and welcome them as honoured guests and valued companions. Perhaps something was wanting in my education after all.”

  “She also neglected to inform you that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Rebecca. Anyway, let us hear no more about it. The matter is settled. Mlle Palomer is here to stay, and she shall be your companion. In front of the servants and in company, I expect you to remember this. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

  I gave him a curt nod. “Now may I be excused?” I asked. “My head is troubling me.”

  “Oh, my dear, not the same trouble as your poor dear Mama had with hers, I trust?” Sir Montague enquired with feigned solicitude. “Of course you must go and rest. Run along now.”

  As I left the room he leaned in towards Celine, reaching a lustful hand down towards her exposed ankle and beginning to slide it up beneath her skirts. I overheard him muttering “Don’t worry about her, my sweet. She’ll get used to it. Rebecca is very adaptable.”

  *

  I returned to my room, making a swift detour via the library to retrieve the list I had written earlier. I tucked it into my Bible for safekeeping, pausing to appreciate the irony of secreting my memories of my encounter with the Devil there. Then I lay upon my bed and thought about my options.

  Sir Montague’s proposition that I should simply accept his attempt to place his whore at the heart of our household was ridiculous. I may not love my husband, I thought, but that does not mean I will tolerate his flaunting his infidelity in my face. This is a calculated insult, we both know it, otherwise he would not have waited until Mama was dead to bring her in.

  Mama… I wished that I could have asked her advice. I feared that she would have told me to stay, no matter what the circumstances, and honour the duty that I owed to my husband. I was sure she would have told me that security mattered more than anything else, and that I would learn to turn a blind eye to it in time. Perhaps I would have done, if he had simply kept a mistress in town. If he had continued to disappear on his supposed business trips I would never have asked questions, I would simply have left him to his own devices and hoped that his mistress, whoever she was, was sufficiently captivating that she would keep him out of my way for as long as possible, leaving me to enjoy the Castle alone.

  Yet I wondered – my Mama was also the young woman who had run away with her lover. Perhaps she would have advised me to take the jewels and run, to slip out of Willow Castle at first light. Surely I would find someone in Castleton who would take me to Buxton, then I could get on the first train to Liverpool, seek out Mervyn and… I sighed. Mervyn had already made it clear that he did not want any part in deceiving his cousin, and I did not know how he would react if I appeared on his doorstep with a bag of jewels and the sworn intention to leave my husband.

  Perhaps it would be wrong of me to approach him, I considered. Perhaps the best thing I can do for Mervyn, as much as it would hurt me, is to set him free to love someone properly, to love a woman who is not married to another man. Perhaps I should return to London and in time he would forget me. I might –

  The door opened. Sir Montague strode in, closing it firmly behind him, and without waiting for an invitation he seated himself on the edge of my bed.

  “Your display in the parlour was most offensive towards Mademoiselle Palomer,” he said, his voice icy cold.

  I scrambled into a sitting position, pulling my knees up towards my body to keep as much of myself away from him as possible. “Your behaviour in bringing her here is most offensive towards me,” I retorted. “I want that woman out of my house.”

  “It’s not your house.”

  “I am your wife!” I snapped. “You spoke earlier of my duties as your wife. Very well, let us speak of your duties as my husband. You promised me fidelity. By your own admission you have broken that promise. You promised to love me. That you have not done. You promised to comfort me, yet when I needed comfort most all you did was make the most offensive remarks about my mother. You vowed that you would honour and protect me, yet I can think of nothing less honourable than foisting your mistress on me. If you were to ask Dr Bagshawe I am sure he would not consider that to be protecting me, either. You have done none of the things you promised in your wedding vows, Sir Montague. I can hardly consider our vows to be valid if you entered into them intending to treat me in this way.” I felt hot tears beginning to stream down my face. “And I have done nothing to you! I knew from the start that I was nothing more than a convenience to you, simply a means to an end, but could you not have offered me simple indifference instead of this malice? And if malice is all you have to offer me, why keep me here to suffer? Why not simply let me go?”

  I had not meant to say so much. I scrutinised his face, watching for a sign of any kind of emotion, any hint of pity. There was none.

  “Let me explain the situation to you, wife,” he said, slowly and clearly, as if talking to an idiot. “Your usefulness to me did not end on our wedding day. It is true that I had to marry in order to gain access to my inheritance, and more to the point, I had to marry someone the trustees would consider suitable. Despite your mother’s youthful indiscretion, they were satisfied with the fact that you were a Lennox and had been quietly reared in a poor but respectable area. My father stipulated a respectable marriage for me precisely because he knew about Celine. I met her on my travels in Europe five years ago and brought her back to England with me. We planned to marry, but my father would not have a dancer from a Lyonnaise corps de ballet for a daughter in law. He informed me that he had altered his will so that if I did not marry a suitable woman, I should never lay a finger on a single penny of my inheritance. Unfortunately my marriage only entitled me to one half of my fortune. The rest remains in trust until our fifth anniversary, at which point we must still be married and both residing here, or I must be a widower. My father believed that if he c
ould force me to remain married to another woman for such a length of time, I would forget Celine. If you want to accuse someone of malice, accuse my father, for it is his infernal meddling that got you into this mess. Left to my own devices I should have ignored your mother’s letter and left you to rot in Lambeth or whatever godforsaken suburb you crawled out of.”

  He leaned in closer to me and stroked a stray strand of hair off my face, tucking it behind my ear. It was a gesture of such tenderness that anyone watching us would surely have thought that they were seeing a touching moment in which a concerned husband was comforting a distraught wife.

  “You might very well be thinking that five years of this will be unbearable,” he whispered in my ear. “I can understand that. I am sure that I would be if, god forbid, I were you. So let me make one thing perfectly clear. I know that you have feelings for my cousin, feelings which are not entirely consistent with your promise of wifely fidelity. If you bolt, I shall ruin him. I will have him out of his current situation in a heartbeat and rendered friendless and unemployable. I may even have him jailed, or worse. You may doubt that I can do this, but will you stake Mervyn’s life and prospects on it? I think not, little mouse of a wife. Just remember – anything you do will have consequences for him. As long as you behave well, and fall in with my plans, your lover shall prosper. And if you do not, I shall not take my anger out on you but upon him. Though if you make too much of a fuss, I shall not hesitate to have you declared mad and locked up. I wouldn’t even have to contravene the terms of my father’s will, my dear. There’s a perfectly serviceable room in the tower, that’s where we have stored insane Chastain women in the past. Perhaps I shall show you it if you ever need to be reminded to behave well. There are stout chains upon the walls and a bed with sturdy leather straps. If you do not want to find yourself dragging out your days in solitude up there, I suggest you make sure your conduct does not displease me.”